BY ALEX CANTATORE
Staff Reporter
A few weeks ago I found myself sitting in a dimly-lit San Francisco bar called The Red Room, hunched over a small table, arm wrestling one of my female friends. And believe me when I say that this was an absolutely vicious, seesaw battle.
The arms pitched back and forth, our muscles quivering for what seemed like hours, until finally my friend reached out and cheated, slamming my own hand to the table.
Defeated, I mournfully looked to her eyes, puffed out my lower lip, and retreated to the bartender for another 7&7.
It wasn’t so much that I minded losing to my cheating friend. It was just that I was disappointed that she had deprived me of enjoying the spoils of victory.
Because, clearly, we weren’t just arm wrestling for kicks and giggles. We were arm wrestling for the right to marriage.
Perhaps I should explain.
I had gone out with a large group to celebrate a friend’s birthday with a pub crawl around San Francisco.
As we hopped from bar to bar, we somehow befriended a couple who seemed to be following us even though they really just had the same eclectic taste in bars as we did.
They were young, they were cute, and they were in love. It was hard to miss them.
Anyone around could clearly see how they felt about each other. It seemed that the couple were destined for marriage, and, so, being the caring guy I am, I volunteered my services to wed the duo in holy matrimony.
You see, not only am I your intrepid Staff Reporter here at the Turlock Journal, reporting on politics, planning, and the homeless, but I also serve as an ordained minister for the Universal Life Church of Modesto, California.
Which is, in fact, a whole lot less prestigious than it sounds.
Let me break down the whole process of becoming a reverend for you.
First, go to http://www.ulc.net/ and click on “Become Ordained.” Then fill out the form that pops up with your name, mailing address, and e-mail address and click “Ordain Me.”
Within a day or two, the ULC will send you an e-mail and let you know that you are now, officially, a minister. It’s that easy!
When some friends and I stumbled upon the ULC website in high school, it seemed so ridiculous that it became a bit of a fad to become ordained.
No less than 25 percent of my class became ordained ministers over the next few weeks. The ordained among us began referring to one another as Brother Bloggs, or Sister Soandso, as teachers scowled our way.
I know, I know, you’re thinking that this couldn’t possibly be real. No legitimate church would allow this, right?
But the ULC is, in fact, a real church, recognized by the State of California. And, with five minutes of your time, you too can lawfully perform marriages, blessings, baptisms, and just about any other ceremony you can think of.
I admit that I originally joined just to be ironic. I thought that it would be amusing to attend Catholic school as an ordained reverend of the Universal Life Church.
I never had any intention to marry anyone. I just wanted to throw around a blessing here and there and to frustrate school administrators as mush as possible.
But then something crazy happened.
A new couple at my high school asked me to marry them.
Now, I was certainly not prepared for this, and I had no idea what the repercussions would be. But after a quick Google search, I found out that any marriages I performed would become null and void in 48 hours without a marriage license from the State of California, just like any other marriage performed in the state.
So, with this knowledge in hand, I returned to the couple and performed a quick, simple ceremony. The two were lovey-dovey for a week or so, and then promptly broke up over some spat regarding a forgotten three-month anniversary, if I recall correctly.
But it’s because the marriage wasn’t real to them. It was just a joke, a way at poking fun at how serious other high school couples were.
Gradually most people in my graduating class were “Married,” some of them many times.
While I did facilitate some of these marriages, I always avoided engaging in the practice myself. I had no problem being in on the joke, but I didn’t want to be a part of it myself.
Of course, like most things, this changed in college.
During a drunken barbecue at my apartment I struck up a conversation with one of my friend’s girlfriends, just casually chatting at first.
At some point it came up that I was a reverend. I offered to marry the two of them.
“No,” she said, with a sly look across the patio at her boyfriend, engaged in a spirited game of beer pong. “I want to marry you instead!”
In the interest of full disclosure, I had no idea what this girl’s name was. And, to be completely honest, I still don’t know what her name is.
But we got “married” that day on my patio, and for the rest of my college career every time we saw each other she shouted out, “HUSBAND!” to which I’d enthusiastically reply, “WIFE!” and run over to hug her. Much to her boyfriend’s chagrin.
But, as I said, it was all a joke. It’s not as though I take the real act of marriage lightly, nor do any of my several friends who’ve tied the knot over the past few years.
I think, if anything, our play with marriage has made the real thing that much more important to us. We know that once we get married - for real - we want to be sure it’s right, because it’s not going to be over in 48 hours.
It’s just because marriage is so serious that my generation seems inclined to joke about it.
It’s all about pushing against cultural norms. About trying to stay sane in the face of this tremendous pressure, the overarching goal in life to get married, settle down, and have children that few of us are ready for, despite the fact that we’re getting closer and closer to the point where we’re going to have to do it each day.
Even people I know who have never been “married” are more willing to joke about dating than past generations have seemed. Facebook relationship statuses are constantly in flux, with “dating,” “is in an open relationship with,” and “it’s complicated” thrown around willy-nilly, with no real justification or process but comedy.
Even the girl I’m dating now is “married” to another girl on Facebook. But I have no problem being her mister-ess.
After all, it takes off a lot of the pressure knowing that you’re dating a married woman.
To contact Alex Cantatore, e-mail acantatore@turlockjournal.com or call 634-9141 ext. 2005.
Originally published in the Turlock Journal 7/16/2008.
Retrieved from the Turlock Journal Web site.